Lunch Hour
by Teyerin
Summary: A collection of lunch hour gatherings between two coworkers.
1. Flinch

Disclaimer:

Still own nothing in the World of Wolf. If I did, I wouldn't have to depend on the current job with such desperation. The title is based on a play by Jean Kerr. A cute three-act comedy, some of the elements may or may not be woven into this collection. (A Waterston fan might possibly know of this play)

Author's Note: First "Drabble" effort as well as an attempt to "lighten up," given the last story. No particular time period (could be before/after the events of Nightmares&Knots) save Year 15/16 (Alex Borgia) and potentially plot-less.

Lunch Hour – I

Alex Borgia was starving. The sooner they made it to the café, the better. Given the hour, one would have hoped for fewer people furiously fetching their food, assuming the 'standard lunch time' had come and gone. Of course, this was New York. Standard 'Anything' Time was meaningless.

She thrust her hands deep in her pockets while impatiently waiting for the crosswalk light to change. It irritated her how Jack McCoy stood beside her, an 'are-you kidding' grin on his face. How he could be so comfortable on a windy day like this was beyond her.

"I don't get it," she said aloud.

"Funny, I was about to say the same thing to you," he said.

She shook her head. "How can you be used to this? And don't tell me that it's age, because I can cut that short for you right now if I need to."

"Ride a motorcycle and this is about the same thing, racing through the-."

"Why a motorcycle?" she asked, jumping as soon as the light changed at last.

He quickened his pace if only to keep up with her. "Why not? It's easier to find a place to park it; it doesn't use up quite as much fuel; and it's easier to maneuver in and out of traffic."

"Well," Alex said walking purposefully toward the café she had in mind, "they still scare me."

Jack chuckled. "That," he said gesturing to the rush of cars, "scares me."

She gave him a look, wondering how long it had been since he'd eaten last.

"Why do you think I take the subway?" he said, holding the door for her.

They found a table in the corner, away from the blaring music by the counter. The theme of the café was a fifties style design complete with tabletop jukeboxes. A piece of masking tape covered the coin slot with the words 'broken' scribbled on it.

"This is your favorite place?" Jack asked. He removed his jacket and lay it on the back of his chair. "You know we don't have that long of a lunch, right?"

Alex smiled, keeping her coat and scarf on, thank you very much. "Nostalgia, good music-."

"When it works," he said pointing to the piece of tape.

"The clothes… Come on Jack, this was like an ideal time in history." She hid behind her menu waiting for his response.

He scoffed. "I've many a reason to disagree with you there, but we don't have time for a summation." Glancing over the options, he asked, "What's safe to order?"

Alex learned that if he asked the question while the menu was open, it was a rhetorical question. If the menu was closed, he was serious. Since she hid behind hers, she wasn't certain which version of the question was asked this time.

"When we're done here," he said, "there are some files I want to review."

Rhetorical, she decided. All she knew was, whatever she ordered was going to be hot. "Sure," she said, still not looking up.

He leaned forward and in a low voice said, "There's the E. Coli case against the burger chain, the mercury poisoning at the dairy farm, the murder charges at the Peterson Packaging Plant, oh, and the asbestos contamination at with the grocery store chain." When he finished, he leaned back as if nothing was the matter.

Alex slowly lowered her menu, annoyance in her eyes. "Well, I think I'm just going to have a bowl of soup, then. Thanks."

"Sure," he said. Jack snapped his fingers. "I almost forgot, the lead investigation at the ceramics company, too." He looked back down at his menu. "Seriously, Alex, what do you usually order when you come here?"

"I wouldn't know. This is my first visit," she said, wondering who would lose control over their smirk first.


	2. Relief

Relief

Alex Borgia propped her chin in both of her hands and stared at the bulk of the contents of her briefcase and purse and didn't see what she was looking for. Of course it was her luck; of course Murphy interfered again, and on today of all days. The only thing accomplished was the doubling of the dulling in her head that threatened to send her home from work earlier than she wanted.

The morning shouting match should have been an indicator of how the day would progress. The meeting in Jack's office was horrible; the defense attorney a moron, and the seeds of a terrible headache took root then, she knew it.

What she wanted was a quiet place away from conversations, phone calls, computers beeping and florescent lights humming. Add to that, if one more person knocked on her door, she was going to-

"Are you all right?"

Alex turned slowly to see Jack McCoy leaning against the doorframe of her now opened door. "I'd have knocked but…" He nodded in her general direction. She responded with a weak smile of thanks.

"Aside from this, I failed to pack a lunch and I don't feel like going out or staring at a menu to order in," she said. "Do you suffer a lot of headaches and I'm not noticing?"

Jack shook his head. "Mastering migraines. I've already ordered from the deli. Soup for you," he added.

"Have you suffered migraines long?" she asked

"Long enough not to wish them on my worse enemy." He stopped to think about that. "Usually," he said. "Tell me you're not-."

Alex returned the contents to their proper carriers. "Oh no, it's just a headache. I was debating whether or not to make an appointment with a Dr. Stillman. My regular doctor's out of town and usually prescribes generic drugs and useless advice."

He closed the door quietly then took the seat beside her desk. "I remember when Danielle Melnick always carried a bottle with her." Jack took out a snack bar from his shirt pocket and handed it to Alex. "Either I already had a headache or she was going to leave with one."

"Thanks," she said again. "How often was this?"

"Every fight we ever had."

Alex's eyes opened wide with surprise. "In court? You've faced the same defense attorney that many times in that many cases?"

Jack nodded his head, reminding Alex of a bobbing glass bird. "In court, out of court, on the court and during our brief courtship." He held up a hand. "Don't ask."

"I should have bought stock in the company – then I could have afforded to teach," she said, her mind spinning on how and when to fish for some of those other 'courtly' stories from her boss.

"You forget to read the fine print on the benefits page of the teacher's contract," he said, "guaranteed aspirin-taking cause creator for the life of the career. Why do you think it's complementary?"

Alex shook her head. "What I wouldn't do for some relief now."

Out of pants pocket, Jack took out a small medicine bottle and set it on her desk. "You left that in the other room." He got up to leave. "If, after lunch, you're still not feeling all right, you can always take a nap on the couch."

"Thanks, again," Alex said chuckling. "You'll let me know when lunch gets here?"

He smiled back at her. "Of course. I'll even make a personal delivery just for you."

"Gee, thanks."


	3. Inventions

Inventions

Jack McCoy stared at the blank screen as he let out a sigh of frustration. He didn't have time for this. He knew one day these things would be out to get him and it had to be today when he thought he had finished-.

"Problems?" Alex Borgia asked as she set down the take-out containers on the relatively clear table.

He turned in chair. "Just revolting modern technology," he said. "For every 'easy convenience' created, man forgets the inevitable chaos that follows it."

"You didn't read the memo about the mailing system being down, did you?" Alex said.

Jack shook his head. "What that emailed and if so, before or after the shut-down?"

Alex stopped to remember. "Last night."

"Well, if it was printed on a piece of paper, then I might have tacked it somewhere to remember this important detail," he said.

"The copier repair man's here looking at what's wrong with it," she said. "Think you have to go to the 9th floor before you find one that works correctly."

Jack picked up his container, hoping it was his order this time and not a salad stolen by Simmons on seventh. "Mimeographs worked just fine. So did typewriters, for that matter – and what an evolution they went through. Oh, and there's this terrific invention called 'the pencil.' You use that on a thing called paper, and it's amazing how well communication works."

Alex laughed. "I was going to worry if you went back to chiseling hieroglyphs or using messenger pigeons."

"You forgot smoke signals," he retorted.

"Given smoking laws, I don't think that stands a chance. That's why we have these things called telephones."

He scoffed. "What's wrong with the simple telephone, Alex? Now you have pagers, beepers, blue-tooth, blackberries, palm pilots, and phones so small that I think the Dick Tracy wrist-watch model will be next. All of that and how well do people talk anymore, huh?"

"Jack, things change. It's called progress."

"Really?" He got up to look for something in his desk drawer. Rummaging through the pencil drawer, he found what he was after. "Explain this?" He held up his small address book and opened it to a page at random. "How is it, this page meant for a single number for a variety of people is actually a single person's collection of various numbers?" He read off the list.

"Home number, second home number –for the same building, mind you; work number, extension number, cell number, pager, beeper, vacation home number, home e-mail address, business e-mail address, instant-messaging address, home address that doesn't necessarily match the physical address and a post office box – just for good measure. All of that and we still play this game called 'phone tag.' Why?"

Alex covered her mouth as she tried to swallow her lunch versus laughing out loud.

"This isn't funny, Alex. This is chaos bordering on madness. By the way, that page-long entry is for my brother and I still haven't gotten a hold of him."

Alex couldn't contain it any longer. "I'm sorry, Jack. I guess I've taken all of this for granted, seeing as how most of it's been around for as long as I've been alive."

Jack grunted as he sat down to eat his now cold lunch. "So, what happened to the lost art of conversation?"

"Have you searched the Internet for that answer?" Alex said. She leaned back as he tried to swat her with his napkin. "Honestly, Jack, it helps people talk."

"Sure, if used sensibly."

Alex propped her elbows on the table, prepared to meet the challenge. "I've one cousin who is a fifth-year senior in Spain right now. She sends pictures, letters and sites of interest to her younger brother so he can learn some culture. And every now and then, when money and time permit, they talk via video-phone. Believe me, that kind of thing puts a kid brother at ease."

She wrapped the other half of her sandwich and continued. "Then there are the science teachers who take vacations and 'bring their students' along while sending lessons to them. And don't forget that students in a classroom in say, Japan, could have a dialogue with students in the Bronx."

"Fine, fine, you made your point. It doesn't excuse this excuse of improper spelling; all of this shorthand – another lost art created by Gregg by the way – with IM's and texting that teens use mostly." He reached behind him to grab a printout. "This is from my nephew. Care to translate?"

"Sorry, not quite that fluent, Jack," she said. Looking at her watch, she got up. "Sorry, I almost forgot."

He put the remains of his lunch away. "Forgot what?" Just when he thought he was getting a handle on this stuff…

"I've to call my parents and wish them a happy anniversary," she added with a wink, "assuming I remember which number to dial."


	4. Value

Value

Alex Borgia picked up the photograph of a young woman off of Jack's desk. She always saw it, but never 'saw' it before. There were so many similarities between father and daughter. "I don't know how well I could do it – balance a career and parenthood, I mean." She carefully set the photo down to give Jack a hand with the various boxes. "You succeeded, right?"

Jack caught the fries before they hit the floor. "Jury says….no."

"Ah. Would you do anything to right the scale?" She looked from her hamburger to his and frowned. Off her look, he quickly traded.

"Yeah," he said, "I'd set it on a tilted shelf."

"That wouldn't help terribly," she said, stealing a few onion rings when he wasn't looking.

He did a double-take at what was before him, dismissed it then answered. "Neither does cramming in three weeks worth of work into one; lamenting the lost years of high school or college; or preparing for a wedding one might be invited to. That last item's supposed to fit into a weekend."

Alex studied him hoping he was joking. When her father made the same comment about weddings, he was always serious. "I'll pass," she said. "I think I'll settle for fast-forwarding through Woody Allen films to get to the parts worth watching."

Jack almost choked down his milk shake. 'Wait a minute, there are worthy parts?"

She felt better now, knowing Jack wasn't too much like her father. "I don't know. I usually go from opening to closing credits in a matter of minutes."

He shook his head. "Then why waste your time picking them up in the first place? Why not a Hepburn or Mathau piece?"

"Oh? And which ones would you recommend?"

Jack shrugged. "Any of them. All of them. I could give you a list of others that might surpass Allen."

"Mm-hmm. And just what sort of film collection does Movie Master McCoy have on his shelf?"

He eyed Alex's hand inching closer to his side. He pulled the rest of his onion rings to himself. "Oh no, you don't."

Defeated, Alex changed tactics. "I could accuse you of having a habit a la Fox Mulder. Let's see, those movies were usually-."

"Classics," he said tossing a ring aimed for the straw in her drink. "I prefer the classics."

"Fine," she said. Alex bit back a response bordering on 'silent films' and kaleidoscopes as she popped the ring her mouth. If she wanted to, she could have needled him about the 'classics' that were defined by what was made only twenty years ago. "So, lessons learned in say, It's a Wonderful Life are more your cup of tea."

"Fair film, but in terms of values, I seem to recall it was deemed a disappointment to some because Potter wasn't properly punished for theft." He saw her gearing up for a movie discussion and he knew exactly where he wanted that to go, but not now. "Getting back to value," he said, "can you possibly justify someone spending ten dollars or more to see a film in a theatre now?"

"Of course not," she said. "That's legalized robbery. Once you add buying drinks, candy, and popcorn, you might as well call it larceny. Then again, what you've paid for the movies you own-."

"Nothing," he said. "I go to the library, where 'free' is a nice four-letter word. You should try it some time. How much did you spend at the bookstore last month?"

"I'm not wasting money on lottery tickets," she countered.

"Another form of legalized robbery," he said. "You know what," Jack said, admitting defeat of the rings, "I've the perfect book for you. Saw it last night and I couldn't resist." He went to his carrying bag and took out a package.

Alex leaned back with apprehension. "Don't tell me it's how to be a 'super woman' who can have it all."

"Heavens, no," Jack said. He took a few steps closer to the door before stretching out his hand to give her the plain brown bag. In a two-step move, he dropped the book in her lap and was out the door before she could respond.

"If this crosses some sort of line, John J. McCoy…" Alex called out. She pulled the book out slowly from the bag. Once in full view, she bit her tongue as she shook her head in disbelief. The Last Book You'll Ever Need.

"You're so going to get it, Jack," she said.


	5. Oblivious

Oblivious

Jack McCoy pulled Alex closer to him as a larger man rushed passed them, cigar in one hand, cell phone in the other.

"Thanks," she said.

"Any time," he said looking over his shoulder to see how many people the guy would bowl over. Jack turned around in time to miss walking into a pole. "And I thought driving was dangerous."

Alex put her arm through Jack's. "So, who is guiding whom today?"

"At this rate, I think it's a toss up." He hoped that the restaurant Alex picked today wasn't terribly crowded. He was beginning to feel a bit on edge already. "Where are we off to again?"

"Le Place," she said.

"Le Place?" he repeated. "Lousy French, don't you think?"

Alex nodded. "_Mauvais._"

They found a table in the front part of the room; very few other people were in. In one of the booths, two other people sat – one svelte young woman maybe in her early twenties and her companion who was probably in his mid-thirties.

Jack and Alex took turns watching – Alex watching the couple; Jack watching Alex watch the couple.

"You know, I'm not insulted by the waiter's reference of calling me your father," Jack said. "Of course, if you rather-."

"That means you've doubled your daughters and I'm already having fun with one father already, thank you very much."

Jack laughed quietly to himself, wondering if that was what off-set her day already. "What did he say this time?"

"He wants me to move back home, says he's found a husband for me."

Jack nodded. "So, you go home dressed in black. What's the problem?"

Alex hit him with her menu. "If I'm going to take a plunge into the deep end of dependency, delight, disharmony and depression, I'd like to pick my own time and target, that's the problem." Her attention returned to the couple in the booth.

"Alex, I'm sure if the food's that bad here, those two would have dropped dead before we got here. Why the interest?"

"Think I stand a chance of having a marriage as happy as theirs?"

Now Jack took his time. The gentleman looked too… Jack couldn't find the word he was looking for. Jack watched as the man held his companion's necklace, a locket perhaps. The young woman sitting beside him couldn't possibly be his wife, given how she looked nervously over her shoulder to see if the waiter was gone. The two stole a kiss then moved apart, holding hands atop the table. Jack doubted any deep affection existed between the two and almost said as much. It might have been fair to say that they were both married - just not to each other.

"Jack? Don't you think it's possible?"

"It's possible," he said finally, not sure if he gave her what she needed. "Just remember, it's your life that you're living, your path that you're creating. Your father can't really control that."

Alex gave a sigh of relief. "I needed that."

"Good." Settle one situation, unsettle another, he thought. "You also need to tell me what your friend Leo wants and why I'm the one answering all your calls from him." He chuckled softly. "If you don't like this guy-."

"Oh, no," Alex said too quickly, "I like Leo – a lot, actually. If I were to marry, he might finish in the top twenty guys to stand a chance."

"Alex, you've said you've-."

She gave him a look. "So, I've only known four guys; it's my pace." They placed their orders then Alex resumed. "Leo's a nice guy."

"Why am I answering the phone, then?" The fact that he had given the same, thankfully true, answer each time was getting old fast.

"I need time to think about it."

Jack shook his head. "Think aloud, then. You have until the end of lunch, and I intend to eat slowly."

"He's…oblivious to what I want and have here, insisting that I move up to the Hamptons with him."

"That's a problem because…?"

Alex played with her napkin. "I don't know. Could you see me living by the bay in a houseful of plants that I'll probably kill in a week's time?"

"So, prepare to charge you with herbicide, is that it?"

"Jack, I killed a cactus and a spider plant."

He looked at her. "They say that's next to impossible."

Alex nodded. "I know. Worse, it took me a while before I realized they died."

When the salads arrived, Jack pulled her plate away from her. "If you're going to use plants as your evidence to avoid a guy you say is decent, then you better find a better reason, because it's currently as thin as this lettuce leaf."

"Just introduce me to a guy like him," Alex said gesturing to the back of the restaurant, "and I should be fine."

"What guy?" Jack said.


	6. Languages

Languages

"This is all Greek to me," Alex Borgia complained.

Jack McCoy pulled off his reading glasses. "That's the funny thing about being in a Greek café, Alex. Come on, if anyone has a mastery of words, I figured it would be you."

"I avoided literature for a reason, Jack."

"Literature has nothing to do with lang-." He stopped, hearing the absurd argument in his ears. "Let's try this again. Almost any given word in the English language is going to be Anglo-Saxon, Greek, or Latin based."

Alex nodded, not buying it. "Uh-huh. Then read this to me." She wrote five letters on piece of paper from her purse. G-H-O-T-I.

He put on his glasses with one hand and took the paper in the other. "It isn't from any of the above, Alex." He mouthed a couple of possible pronunciations frowning at the sound of them all. "I give up. French? German? Italian?"

"Fish," she said.

"I'm not familiar with that kind of fish," he said.

Alex shook her head. "No, the pronunciation of that particular combination is 'fish.' F-I-S-H."

He gave her back the paper. "So, is this Star Trek, Star Wars or Twilight Zone based?"

Alex wrote down three words. "Try, Old German, Middle English and Anglo-French," she said, keeping the paper in her hand.

"You expect me to guess now," he said. "All right, g-h-o-t-i," he repeated. "German based…" He sighed. "That's tough."

"One down," Alex said making a checkmark on her paper.

He gave her a look before moving on. "I've no idea what you just said, and that was in English; how sad. All right, Middle English, you say, not Old English… Most of the women I remember in literature class took to this better than I and now I'm regretting that."

"That's two."

"I didn't say anything. That's what someone would describe as 'thinking aloud.' It's any wonder men and women have the misunderstanding they do."

During lunch, Jack tried to figure out the final piece of the puzzle. "Anglo-French, huh. Either find me an interpreter, a computer or… Where's a dictionary when you need one."

"I'll accept that."

"Which action? All I said was I need a dictionary." He gave up. "In simple, understandable English, please tell me, what on earth you're talking about."

Alex handed him the paper. "Now do you see how g-h-o-t-i is fish?"

First he smiled, then he frowned. "I'm obviously not giving you enough work to do."

"I could start on definitions if you want me to."

Jack shook his head. "Please, don't. It's bad enough that I know the word '_poshalsta'_ has at least three different meanings depending on how and when you say it."

"When did you study Russian?" Alex asked.

"I didn't. It was something that Detective Green said off-handedly once. He told me the context. The only language I bothered with formally was Latin, and I don't have to tell you why that one."

Alex smiled, pocketing a couple of more tidbits of information for later. "I had fun with French, Spanish and Italian."

"How romantic."

"Cute. Seriously, Jack, I'll dare you to a definitions duel anytime."

He took a pen out of his pocket and wrote a poem on the back of the paper then gave it to Alex. "I challenge you to a game of Scrabble instead. In the meantime, fix that."

"An Ode to the Spell Checker"

Eye halve a spelling checker, it kame withe my PC.  
It plane lea marks four my revue, miss takes eye dew knot sea.  
I've run my pome threw it. I'm shore yore placed too no,  
It's letter perfect ovary weigh. My program tolled me sew!

(author unknown)


	7. Original or Remake

Original or Remake

Alex Borgia accepted a plate from Jack McCoy. "Are you sure that's enough?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said grabbing her chopsticks then clearing a place at the table for him. It was about time she had a break from this case, she thought, even if it was for only a little while.

"Because, you know what they say…" he continued, putting the last spring roll on her plate.

Alex smiled. "I know. We'll be hungry in an hour. Why do you think I'm planning on having seconds? Found an interesting movie on television last night."

"Oh? Which one?"

"Twelve Angry Men."

Jack nodded approvingly. "Henry Fonda and Lee Cobb-."

"No," Alex said glancing at him, "it was Jack Lemmon and George C. Scott."

"Alex, I have that movie practically memorized. The other jurors were: Begley, Sweeney, Warden, Klugman, Marshall, Binns, Balsam, Fielder, Voskovec and Webber."

Alex shook her head. "No, I'm pretty sure the others were: Olmos, Danza, Vance, and… I can't recall the others offhand. It was a good story, though if you were to sit in a room full of jurors arguing over a case."

Jack decided not to correct her casting. "True, but it could also be seen as a lawyer's nightmare, regardless of which side you're fighting for. Think about it, Alex, how many cases have we lost because of the strong persuasive skills of an individual?"

"I know. You'd have thought the judge would have put a stop to it had she known they-."

Jack put down his drink. "She? Alex-."

"Fine! The judge would have stopped it, maybe." She shook her head. "It was a good film all in all, although I think they could have used less profanity. They must have said the F- word at least a dozen times."

This time Jack dropped his dumpling. "Alex, Sweeney's character was the only one who uttered a profanity and it was fitting when he did."

"All right." Alex continued with her lunch before finding another movie to discuss. "My boyfriend once dragged me to sit through 'The Ladykillers,' too."

"And what's wrong with 'The Ladykillers?' That's probably one of Guinness' finest-."

"So much profanity, I lost count. It had Hanks in it, Jack. Of all the characters, though, I thought Garth Pancake and The General were the funniest."

Jack sighed. "For the record, it was Peter Sellers' first film."

"If you say so," she said then sipped her soda.

Jack pushed his plate aside before leaning back. "If you want to see comedy done right, may I recommend 'Last Holiday,' or is that a bit too much to ask?"

"I saw that one."

Unconvinced, Jack asked, "What did you think of the ending?"

"I liked it. Queen Latifah's character did what she needed to do. Why?"

He shook his head. "If you saw the original, you'd have a different answer."

Alex shrugged. "Well, I suppose you're going to tell me that you didn't like 'Sleepless in Seattle' or 'The Money Pit.' That reminds me, I need to call the maintenance guys to get some repairs done."

"They don't sound familiar. Summary?"

"Two people destined to be together who set an appointment to meet at the top of the Empire State Building-."

"That's from 'An Affair to Remember.' Grant and Kerr."

Alex waved a hand at him as if shooing a fly. "Oh, they featured several clips of movie, too. 'The Money Pit' is about this poor guy trying to renovate his house and it's just one headache after another."

"That's an awful lot like 'Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House,' another Grant film, I might add." He pushed some of the food around on his plate. "I'm beginning to wonder what else has been destroyed or distorted to make another dollar anymore."

It was Alex's turn to shake her head as she took a movie out of her bag. "Do try and lighten up, Jack. After all, hasn't it been said that every story under the sun has already been told? Oh, here's that movie I was trying to tell you about – if you remember our argument on the problems of technology."

Jack reached for the video but Alex held back. "It wasn't an argument. It was a discussion," he said.

"Well, actually, it seemed more like a mini-rant, if you want to be truthful." She got up to help herself to a second serving of rice, forgetting the video at hand.

Jack rose and took the video from her then sat down again. "It's called, 'You've Got Mail' huh? So, is this the evidence you're presenting for e-mail?"

Alex nodded. "I think you'll like it, it's about-."

He groaned. "Time for a good cry. They had to remake 'The Shop Around the Corner?' Why?" Jack held up a hand to silence Alex. "Look, has this Hanks gentleman done anything original? Please, I beg you. See the Stewart and Sullivan version, please?"

Alex bit her lip in an effort to keep from laughing. "If it helps, Jack," she said still struggling, "I'm sure twenty odd years from now, many movies I like will face the same fate."


	8. Unpalatable

Credit for this one goes to McCoylover for the Dworkin challenge.

Unpalatable

Jack removed his coat from the counter chair as Alex approached him. "I was beginning to think you got lost," he said. "I almost sold your seat, too."

"I'll keep that in mind next time we go to the bar and I beat you there. See if I save you a seat then." Alex removed her jacket then nervously tucked her hair behind her ear. "Do you promise not to get mad if I tell you something?"

"Alex, you know you can tell me anything." He ordered her a salad, an order of onion rings and a soda.

A strand of hair fell loose and she tucked it back again. "So, you promise?"

Jack put a hand over his heart and said, "I promise. What is it?"

Alex finished her entire glass of water before starting. "Well…"

He waited for her to continue. While she handed her glass to a passing waiter for a refill, he said, "Deep subject."

Ignoring him, she finished half a glass this time.

"At the rate you're going," he said, "either we're back to water conservation or looking at the half-of-a-half-of-a-half again theory."

The glass still to her lips, Alex said quickly, "IwentandhaddinnerwithRandyDworkinlastnight."

Jack was speechless, in part, still attempting to decipher the muffled rush of words, but more importantly hoping he didn't hear the name he thought he heard. He took the glass away from her, along with her soda for good measure. With deliberate measured tone, he enunciated each word. "Try that again. This time, slowly and clearly. Please."

Alex did. "I went and had dinner with Randy Dworkin last night."

Jack nodded his head with each word, a look of shock and dismay on his face. "That's what I thought you said."

"You promised not to get mad," she reminded him.

"I know. I'm not." He looked at her. "You might be, though. What were you thinking?"

Alex made light of the comment. "I was curious, that's all. After yesterday's invitation and what you told me, I wanted to find out for myself."

Jack picked at the meal in front of him, most of it untouched because it was practically flavorless. "And what did you discover?"

"Well, Randolph J. 'Randy' Dworkin, Esq. was born in Massachusetts. The 'J' stands for Jacob, unless you're talking to his other grandmother, then it's Julian. She wanted him to go to Julliard. Otherwise, his namesake uncle says it's for Joker. He once owned a coffee shop when other students were dealing lemonade. He wanted to be a D.A. in Boston and still might; he hasn't decided yet."

Jack took all of this in, amazed. Alex's face lit up more talking about Dworkin than it did when she talked about Leo or Peter. "So, why on earth is he here, then?" he asked, trying to hide a smile.

"You challenge him."

Jack gave her a 'give-me-a-break' look. "Maybe I should return the favor and step down – let you challenge him for a change." He added, "I'm kidding. So, knowing you, there will probably be a second get together, right?"

"Jack!" Her fork clattered against the fork before she could stop it. From there, it fell to the floor. Jack handed her his unused utensil.

"In case you haven't noticed, there's this sweet, undaunted side of you that gives a guy a second chance. Personally, I'm…impressed that you gave Dworkin one."

"Why do you hate him so?"

"I don't. I just don't like him. I don't have to like all the defense attorneys I come across and they don't have to like me. It's fighting with facts, not friendship making. But, you're stalling. When's the next…" he knew she hated the word. He hated the combination that was about to be made. "When's the next date with Dworkin?"

"After the end of the trial. He wants to take me to this restaurant on Duke Ellington Blvd. It should be interesting."

Jack nodded. "It could be. Just promise to be careful, all right? The last thing I want to have happen is for you to get hurt, or worse."

"Or worse?" she repeated.

"Yeah. I don't think I could handle losing another terrific partner to defense. That tends to leave a bitter-sweet taste in my mouth."

"So does this lunch," she said pushing the plate to one side. "Mind if we stop at one of the vendor carts on the way back?"

"Sure." He paid for the tab then helped Alex with her coat. "So, tell me more about 'Dandy Randy.'"


	9. Scrabble

Scrabble

"No, it isn't."

"Yes, it is. Check the dictionary."

"I don't have to. That isn't legal."

"It most certainly is. Just because you don't like the definition I gave-."

"I'm doubting most of your definitions. What are you going to try and 'un' next, hmm?"

"Fine, I won't use that word. But that one-."

"Is no more legal than the last one!"

"You're just sore because you're losing."

"No. You're bending rules to create a pretzel."

"As if you don't do that-."

"I do it when it counts!"

"And this doesn't?"

"Fine. Let's just start all over, play this out properly. What do you say?"

"I say you're mad because you're losing."

Arthur Branch leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. While the bickering continued, he helped himself to some aspirin from one of his people's desk. Why they decided on a 'game-time lunch' was beyond him. He stopped playing long ago; letting the verbal tennis match continue, at first for comedy's sake, then for stress release.

Now he was counting out two pills, watching the exaggerated gestures out of the corner of his eye. This was what he got for encouraging them to eat in today. He counted out four more pills, put two in each cupped hand and slid them on opposite sides of the table. Absentmindedly, Jack picked up and swallowed the proffered pills. Alex picked hers up and held them like dice, even shaking them a couple of times. Arthur expected them to fall to the table and someone calling out 'yahtzee' or something.

For good measure, Arthur took a third pill, dry-swallowed it and shook his head in utter disbelief, asking himself the same question he already had an answer to.

Whose bright idea was it to turn the Scrabble board into a Boggle game?


End file.
